The Laughing Clown
by hymenated
Summary: ComicverseNolanverse: JXHQ. She is a last resort to provide insight to a man who isn't really a man at all. Will resume after Christmas!
1. 00

_The truth is, I don't own Batman ):_

_Oooh, I've been really nervous about posting this. I have completely immersed myself in all that is DC Comics, specifically those of which feature Joker and Harley Quinn. I admit I am a huge Batman geek, but mostly for the animated series and the Justice League, so my comic book knowledge isn't all that up to par. More notably, I have never written for the Batman fandom ever and haven't written a multi-chaptered on-going story in a very long. I'm sure you can appreciate my nervousness at posting this. I'm going to be honest; I'm relying heavily on feedback to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong both in my knowledge and my writing itself. I know that I can sometimes babble and become inconsistent. Mostly however, I hope you enjoy this as much as I am enjoying writing it. _

_I'm going to go out on a whim and say that it is painfully obvious that this is a crossover. Also, that the Dark Knight is fabulous and that I am unashamed to say I have saw it six times. :D._

**00 Prologue.**

It starts with a door knock and from there on, Harley finds herself being whisked away towards some new misguided adventure by Batman (really, she can hardly believe it either). "There's a problem on Earth forty-something." He says emotionlessly, and god Harley doesn't really care because she thought she was done with this multiverse mumbo-jumbo, hadn't she just gotten back from some other way-ward Earth? So his words come out as a chorus of "blah blah blah, problem problem, woe woe wooooooooe!" and she stifles a giggle because even if she is legally sane now, it's all rather amusing to her. Until Batman says the word 'Joker' and suddenly it's not funny anymore. Damnit, she was done with the Joker too, wasn't she?

Harley stops running on some roof of some building and so does Batman, and she processes the last twenty minutes in her head. The knock on her apartment door had sounded at exactly eleven o'clock because she had just come out of a two hour long soak in the bath. Hair laying limply across her face and neck, she had quickly tossed an over-sized tee shirt over head and stumbled towards the door where the knocks had become less patient and more urgent. "Yea, yea I'm comin'!" she had yelled before slipping her arms out of the two holes of her shirt, and opened the door. The temptation to slam it in his face was almost far too overpowering. Instead, she'd squeaked out an "oh".

"You," she'd said nervously, wringing the bottom of her shirt in her hands. "What do I, uh, owe this pleasure, Bats?"

Batman had just stared at her. "I need your help."

Harley stared back, her face straining to be cheerful and she stepped back. "Come in, come in." she twittered, not bothering to hide her nerves. "Sit down." She ordered tiredly, jabbing her thumb towards the small couch. She shuffled into her kitchen, poking her head round to the costumed man on her couch. "Whatcha drink Bats?"

"Nothing."

Swallowing, she'd brought her head back into the kitchen and nodded, frowning. "Nothin'." She mimicked quietly, pulling a face. She emerged moments later, a cup in her hand ('Holly' engraved onto it, Batman had noticed with narrowed eyes). She sat down beside him, placing her cup on the colourful coffee table she had insisted on buying. "So…"

"I need you to get dressed." He said immediately. "You'll need to pack, I'm not sure how long for, but enough for at least a few months."

"Right." She said, frowning, then snapped her head round to gape at him. "What do ya mean a few months?! Where the hell am I goin'?!" 'What makes you think I'll actually help you?!' she had wanted to scream too, but that she kept to herself.

"Once you're ready and packed, I'll explain on the way."

So here so she was, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, large suitcase in hand and staring at Batman with wide eyes. "Sorry, come again?"

Batman glances at the street below, and pinpoints which alley he has parked his bat-mobile. "There's a problem with one of the Earths." He says, folding his arms. "It's not one we are familiar with, but…" he trails off, and Harley sees him frown. "There's a Joker on that world who is out of control."

"Can't their Batman deal with him?" she says, her voice sounding a little too bitter.

"Not exactly." He grumbles his tone irritated. "The Batman from that Earth took the fall for Harvey Dent and his now Gotham's most wanted."

Harley can't quite hold back a laugh. "This Batman some kind of idiot?"

"He's young. All of them are – Harvey, officially is dead, but in reality he's locked up in Arkham. He hasn't established himself as Two-Face yet."

"So what's the problem with Mr. J?"

"He's in Arkham, but according to well…. The source who contacted me, he's being very difficult."

Harley raises an eyebrow. "So? What's that gotta do with me, Bats?"

"He's young Harley. A lot younger than you're Joker. Just started out, as far as I can tell." His tone his low and Harley starts to understand he's trying to persuade her. "Not quite the same, but the similarities are still there." He says and Harley thinks if he were a criminal there'd be a devious little twinkle in his blue eyes. "They need someone to figure him out, outsmart him."

"I ain't ever outsmarted Mr. J, Bats." She whispers, voice quivering. "And anytime I ever got close to, he'd always remind me that he delivered the punch lines." She shoves her hands into her pockets, suddenly feeling a little nostalgic.

"You've got an advantage with this Joker, Harley."

Harley stares at the ground and she doesn't need Batman to say anymore, she gets it. She's a smart girl, under all the blond hair and lazy attitude. She's got more than few years advantage with this new Joker. She's spent enough time with her own to know his quirks. His likes, his dislikes, when he's lying or when he's telling little parts of the truth. She knows his moods inside out, knows his mannerisms and his body language. She knows HER Mr. J, but she doesn't know this younger fresher Joker who isn't quite her own. But then, the foundations will be the same she guesses. His humor, the same. His reasons are probably the same and his motivation. And of course, his little obsession with the Batman. They're always a constant. He likes a laugh, likes to hurt people and really he just wants the world to laugh with him while he burns it.

Harley understands this new Joker will probably try to twist her head. Her heads already twisted round to his level anyway. She will infuriate him, but that's nothing new. He'll try to kill her, eventually, but Harley knows how to get out of that particular predicament quite well from all the years of practice she's had. But there's the small nagging doubt that she might just well… Be charmed all over again by this Joker. Then again, she might just have something for that problem too. Harley's spent enough time on her own, with new partners and friends, to have developed her own backbone and her own sense of purpose.

"So you want me to shrink this guy, huh." Her voice comes out like a squeak; not quite frightened but not quite sure.

"Something like that."

"Look, I'm gonna be honest with ya Bats. Mr. J, he ain't ever gonna change. The most I'll be able to do? Well… Get inside his head a little and then give Batman some tips."

Batman smirks. "It's enough."

Harley nods, butterflies in her stomach. "So how do we get there?"

"Our friend has some kind of device."

She laughs despite herself because she really must be crazy to be agreeing to this. Shakily she takes his hand while he uses his little gadgets to get them on the ground and suddenly she's in his car and they're driving and driving for what seems like hours to Harley until they're under caves and then… Well Harley isn't quite sure what to make of where they are. "You must've finally cracked." She squeaks, getting out of the car, case dragging behind her as she looks around the bat-cave. "Bringin' me here… Musta cracked good."

Batman glances at her, eyes narrowed. "No, it's a necessary step. Contact is made here, and so you travel from here." His voice is cold but Harley can hear the faint dread in his voice. "I-" he starts, then stops himself, mouth twisting into a frown, "the other Batman," he corrects, "will be waiting for you. Once you're there you can sort out your living arrangements with him."

An intake of breath is his response. Suddenly there's a million questions going through her head but she can't find her voice to ask them.

"This is a last resort." Comes Batman's voice, as if reading her mind. "You're not stupid Harley, you've proved that time and again. You've also proved how unstable you can be and how naïve you are in befriending _extreme personalities_." He glances back at his computer screen. "This is a last resort. I can't allow that Earth-" he stops suddenly, closing his mouth tightly.

Harley scrunches up her nose distastefully, not missing the little remark nodding towards her early years as an intern. "I get it," she states flatly, "I'm plan D."

Batman smirks at her. "Good."

"So, we getting this show on the road or what?"

Nodding, Batman points towards a metal archway that reminds Harley of old horror films. "Stand under it," he instructs, typing away at his computer.

"You sure this is safe?" she croaks.

"Yes. I've had it for a while… Just in case."

Harley thinks it's not at all surprising that Batman has something like this; he has everything else after all. _Must be one rich fella'_. She muses. Taking a gulp of air into her lungs, she grabs her case and marches purposefully towards the machine, standing as instructed. "Ready, B."

Batman doesn't say a word, just hits a few buttons and closes his eyes as flash of hot white light bathes the cave for at least twenty seconds. When it's faded, he opens them again, pulling off his cowl and running a hand through his hair, turning his chair to look at where Harley had previously been standing. Bruce lets out a shaky sigh. "Good luck, Harley."


	2. 01

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, sorry for the wait :)_.

**The Laughing Clown**

**01**.

On the other side there's a sort of grimy gray light that envelopes the room in something similar to a thick sea of smog that appears in the very heart of Gotham; unforgiving and suffocating. Bruce Wayne stands amidst it, leaning back casually against his own computer system in the very heart of the Wayne towers basement. Unconsciously he reaches for the cowl sitting faithfully beside him, lifting it and slipping it over his head just as he has done so many times before. He's a little apprehensive; a little unsure if this will work. He is aware that he has put his trust into the hands of someone claiming to be himself and that in itself is more than a little unethical. A little not-so-sane but Bruce is a man and if anything goes wrong, well, he will own up and take responsibility and save the say just as he always does.

Perhaps he's hoping just a little it might go a little wrong. Deep down, however unwilling he is to admit it both to himself and Alfred, he's a little frustrated with his lack of activity as of late. He has to work in even darker shadows now and be a little less frequent. He feels like he owes something to people like Harvey Dent and by taking the fall, by only showing every so often, he thinks he is giving them what they deserve back. Alfred often comments that his logic is sometimes almost as bizarre as the Joker's.

As Bruce fastens the cowl on properly, Batman immediately takes his place and he inches away from his leaning spot and his back straightens just a little. He gives a quiet cough to clear his throat and flexes his hands into fists before straitening them out again. The light begins to clear and he can see the faintest outline of a petite looking figure and as it clears even more he is relieved to see it is in fact a blond woman, just as the other him (beneath the mask, Bruce tries very hard to ignore how utterly crazy that actually sounds) informed him. Carefully, he steps forward as the light fades away completely and he can really look at the blond woman blinking and looking around her in wonder. She's attractive, the playboy in him observes, is somewhat petite and he can tell by the grin that appears on her face when she sees him that she probably has a sense of humor. One that probably will not appeal to him at all. Bruce Wayne wonders how this woman ever ended up with the likes of the Joker, while Batman immediately is on his guard because this is the former girlfriend of the Joker.

As far Harley, well she is just dying to let out a girly sort of giggle at this Batman. He's all armor and muscle and no tights. His mouth is set in such a thin line that Harley can tell right away whoever this Batman is behind the mask is the same man behind her own Batman. But there are no tights and it's almost just too much for her take. "What kind of Batman are you with no _tights_?" she blurts out without any real thought.

That remark brings him to a sudden stand still. "Tights?" he chokes out, confused.

Harley grins a toothy grin and lets go of her case, walking over to him, close enough to poke at his thigh with her index finger. "_My_ Batman wears tights."

For the briefest second he's unsure how to proceed, before he's speaking in growl-tongue. "I'm not _your_ Batman."

Scrunching up her nose, Harley takes a step back. "Well I can see that. You're so… _Serious_. At least my Batman can take a joke once in a while."

There's a flash to a painted white face when she says that and he is suddenly remembering why the girl is here in the first place. "I don't have time for jokes," he states, "we have business to discuss, Harleen."

"_Harley_." She corrects.

Batman decides not to argue. "Harley," he corrects himself and continues when she beams at him, "I've already assembled you're essentials; birth certificate, passport, driving license and accommodation. Anything else you need, like dental care or medical help, will be covered by Wayne Enterprises."

"Wayne? As in… Bruce Wayne?"

He just smirks. "He owes me a few favours." It's a vague explanation but Harley goes for it and he's grateful; he continues speaking again, explaining a few things about the life he's fabricated for her, until he eventually arrives at the topic of her job. "Arkham have been informed briefly of yourself. They were happy enough with your real grades from college, but in order to secure as the Joker's official doctor…" he trails off.

"You had to make up some wacko hair brained story?" Harley offers.

Batman resists a chuckle. "Right."

Harley purses her lips together in thought for a moment, before folding her arms, looking at him seriously. "And what about him? You got any info on him so as I can… Prepare myself?"

"In your apartment. Everything that can possibly prepare or inform you, it's there waiting on you."

"So… I guess that's it then." She murmurs.

"You start work on Monday; that's three days from now. In that time I suggest you get to know your neighborhood and get to know this Gotham."

Harley offers a weak smile. "Guess I better head to my new humble abode then." She squeaks, heading back to her case and dragging it over. "Mind giving a girl a ride home?"

Batman says nothing, just heads towards his Tumbler and opens it up. "Get in."

She's left alone in her apartment with her clothes and a bankcard as Batman leaves with the fleeting words; "Buy yourself something for work." Harley thinks she'd rather buy a car to get to work with; maybe some paint because the apartment is boring. Letting out an over dramatic sigh, she falls onto the couch and casts a glance around. The place is pretty spacious and she thinks Batman's probably got Bruce Wayne to pay for this as well. Her eyes fall onto the bank card in her hand and she shakes her head; she makes a point not to let herself owe Batman any favours if this is what poor Bruce has had to do.

With a discontented sigh, Harley twists around on the couch to look into the kitchen, eyeing the folders laying organized on the breakfast bar. With a glance at the clock, she decides she'll leave the Joker history listen until tomorrow and jumps from the couch, wandering out of her living room to the hall, into her bedroom.

It's dark outside and she's mostly tired from everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours. She doesn't care about the size of her room or her bed, instead thankful that there is a bed and she falls onto and is asleep within minutes, clothes still on, ontop of the covers.

When she awakes the next morning, the sun is blazing in through the window and for a second she has no idea where is she is – that is until the memories hit her full force like one of the Joker's fists and she wishes she'd slept a little longer. "Rise 'n shine Harley." She croaks to herself, rolling out of bed and stumbling into the hall and into the living room. "Toothbrush," she mumbles to herself, grabbing her suitcase and ripping it open, throwing various assortments of clothes around until she finds her red toothbrush. With a tired and victorious grin she makes the bathroom her destination (she's thankful there aren't too many rooms in this place).

It takes her a little longer than usual to get ready; she decides to shower and instead of drying her hair, she puts it into tight pigtails. She spends a while going through her clothes, looking for something respectable to wear (she has to remind herself that what is respectable to her is not, for example, particularly respectable to society). In the end, she settles for an overly large tee-shirt and a pair of cropped jeans, pulling on a pair of flat shoes quickly. She looks like a teenager, she realizes with a bemused smile. "Gotta change that to play the doctor role again." She says out loud to herself, picking up the bankcard Batman left her and her apartment keys. With a second thought, she grabs the note pinned to her fridge with the pin number on it, and a pen (so she can note down where the hell she's staying at) and rushes out of the apartment, slamming the door loudly and giving a giggle at the prospect of waking anyone up.

She's fortunate enough to live near enough clothing stores to provide her with new business like outfits. She feels a little like she's playing dress up as she pays for the various pencil straight skirts and high waisted trousers paired with a few expensive blouses and cardigans. She has a role to play as Doctor Quinzel in two days; bright young Doctor Quinzel with a bright smile and a calculating mind. It feels like a whole other life that never belonged to her when she tries to remember when those days where a reality.

With a thoughtful glance at the other stores around her she decides she's spent enough time shopping; after all she has things to read up on and has to figure out how she's getting to Arkham on Monday morning. She sort of knows where she is now; she remembers terrorizing a few people on this neighborhood back on her own Earth, back when she and 'that person' were still together. With a forlorn little sigh she turns back into the street that her apartment block is on, and almost walks by straight towards it. A

Almost. Sitting outside it, is a brand new car. Leaning against that car is someone Harley has only ever met a few times and on those times she'd been robbing him or robbing his friends.

"Ms. Quinzel." Bruce greets, pushing off of the car in a very casual way, smiling a charming smile at Harley.

"Bruce Wayne." She states bluntly, gaping. A voice in her snaps at her not to say anything stupid; she has to be Harleen right now. "I don't mean to be rude… But why…?" she asks, looking at him with a questioning look, making sure not to gape this time, instead giving him a flash of a professional smile.

Bruce casually gestures towards the car. "My friend Batman paid me a visit last night and mentioned you had no way of getting to Arkham. Of course, how can Gotham hope for a brighter future when our new lady of hope can't even get to work?"

Harley's heard the stories of her own Bruce Wayne; this one is no different. She doesn't bother to object about the car – a free car is a free car after all. However, she feels her ego growing slightly at being labeled as 'Lady Of Hope'. "Thanks, Mr. Wayne. I appreciate it", she smiles thankfully. "Strange that you're here, I was actually just thinking about that," she glances at her apartment for a second, "I'd invite you up, but I only arrived yesterday and well, you know how things are."

Nodding in understanding, Bruce smiles at her. "Maybe another time," he says, pulling out his cell phone, "if you need anything else, don't hesitate to get in contact. I'm sure Batman will have left a number."

"That's very kind of you Mr. Wayne, although, it makes you wonder what you had Batman do to owe him this kind of favour."

Bruce smirks. "You really have no idea." He chuckles, throwing the car keys at her and winking as a limo pulls up. "Well, I'll be seeing you. Like I said, get in contact if you need anything."

Harley smirks. "Oh, don't worry. I will. Goodbye Mr. Wayne." Bruce waves goodbye and she waits until his limo is out of sight before heading towards her apartment. The criminal in her is desperate to take advantage of the situation but the rational part knows she can't do anything drastic here, especially in such foreign territory. "Gotta lay low." She reminds herself, pushing open the door to her apartment with her hip, then kicking the door closed, dumping all of her bags on the floor. "Ok Harley," she says to herself, walking purposefully into the kitchen and grabbing all the information on the Joker, "gotta do your homework."


	3. 02

_I'd like to take a moment to respond to Rain The Revenant: Personally I'm relieved when I get positive feedback, especially in such depth. Harley, Harley, Harley… I'm glad you think she's in IC because I can tell you, it's difficult to write her in this situation. I think I've got away with it so far because I've been trying to think her thoughts (how crazy did I just sound?). I'm especially excited (and worried) about writing her first session with the Joker as Dr. Quinzel, super doctor. As for Bruce? I wanted to put across that he's still somewhat new to this game; he's making mistakes the Batman from comic verse would never make now. But that's because he's young; sure he's been through a million and one things to shape him into a vigilante who kicks ass but he doesn't have the same experience that we're all familiar with. By informing Harley of his 'debt' to Batman, he's underestimating her, but he's also telling the truth. Think back to the Dark Knight; Batman kicked the Joker's ass at that fundraiser, he can use that to his advantage to explain to Harley how she's being so provided for. Harley doesn't really question it because she knows from experience how well connected and informed her own Batman is; having a millionaire playboy at his every whim probably seems more plausible than the fact that the Batman she's stuck with now doesn't have a teenage sidekick. Thanks for reviewing :D._

_Thank you to everyone else who reviewed also; it really means a lot. _

_I've been a bit lazy about writing this because I've been waiting all week for the TRC 200 scanlations to come out; what can I say? I have little bit of an addiction. Things are finally moving along and I can start to write something that has something resembling a plot. I have to warn you that I found some of this quite monotonous while writing it; mostly because I was debating whether to have the Joker appear now, or later. _;).

**The Laughing Clown**

**02.**

The reports are mostly news reports or written statements, but somehow Batman has managed to add in a few police reports as well as some private information from Arkham. Harley thinks that there's probably a Jim Gordon on this Earth too and that she'll probably meet him on her first week at Arkham; she can already picture the conversation. 'Are you sure about this? He is a dangerous man! Please, I really think- blah, blah, blah.' With her nose scrunched up in distaste, she puts the police reports to the side to read last. She's sitting on the floor with most of the file spread out in front of her; she hasn't removed the images provided yet because she's a little nervous. From what she's read so far, she's not sure how she'll react to this Joker. A Chelsea Grin isn't something she expected, especially not the mentions of make-up. Holding her breath, she pulls out the few images gingerly, then deflates when she sees them. They're grainy at best, but she gets the gist of them. The scars and the make up combined are horrifying, of course, but all Harley sees is a man. A man with some unfortunate scars wearing make-up trying to stir up a little trouble. Sure, he's handsome. Harley can tell, even from the photos, that her Joker probably looked similar to this man when he was younger.

With a disappointed frown, she picks up the reports and hopes that reading in more detail about his misadventures will make him more interesting; more than a man. More like- well, more like him, she thinks with a resigned sigh. She reads on in silence and finds herself smiling slightly at what this young Joker has accomplished. Definitely not as impressive or as talented as her own, but she thinks that over time he could be something truly terrifying. A legend in his own right. It's these thoughts that make her freeze, and she lets out a choked breath. She can't be thinking like that; she's here to figure this man out, report her findings and leave. She can't be thinking wistfully about his future criminal career and especially not hoping to see him in action. But she does smile a little, picking up another report, and mumbles quietly to herself. "I wonder what he's like in person."

The rest of the reports are mostly repetitions of what she has already read and so she finds herself trying to figure out an approach plan. She isn't exactly sure what he's capable of, so she knows to go in guarded, ready for anything. But she also knows that this man is not unlike her own Joker in terms of humor and temper. A smile should suffice; cheerful demure and kindness at first. Perhaps he will underestimate her or perhaps he will see right through her, whatever happens she knows she has to be ready for it.

She makes a mental to note to avoid plays on her name. She can't be Harley Quinn this time; mostly, though, she is scared that if she hears him say her name she will slip up. Doubts lingering at the forefront of her mind, she lies back onto her floor and tries to push them far enough to the back to give herself something reminiscent of confidence so that she doesn't make a complete fool out of herself (more so than usual).

* * *

Monday strolls into her life a bit like a raging a bull; she finds herself up at 5am trudging around her apartment drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee until she is awake enough to make herself look presentable for work. There is paper all over her floor but she doesn't care; she walks over them, hiking up a stocking as she goes, toast hanging from her teeth. With both stockings successfully on and her toast half eaten, lying on the kitchen counter, she tucks her blouse into her pencil skirt before zipping it up. She hasn't put on a lot of makeup – foundation, mascara and lipstick is all she has accompanied by a light blusher to make her look at least somewhat alive.

By half past six she is brushing her hair and placing a headband around her wrist; if need be, she can pull it back later on. With a last check of her appearance, Harley grabs her keys, car keys and her handbag then rushes out of her apartment and down to her car, her stomach doing little flips.

She gets lost six times. On the sixth time, she calls the number she has for Bruce Wayne and apologies eight times for waking him up and has him direct her via phone to Arkham. The phone call ends with Harley agreeing to meet him for dinner that night and as she leaves her car she feels a little bit guilty. _For all the wrong reasons_.

Arkham Asylum sits in the narrows looking just as much the silent prison that the Arkham she's been locked up, looks. She recoils a little after parking her car and stepping through the doors of the mad house; she feels sick and nervous and enthralled all at once and it's a mixture she thinks she should be used to by now. Forcing herself to stand straighter, force a professional smile and walk towards a tall, bulky man passing by. "Excuse me?" she asks, gently grasping the mans arm. The man halts, looking down at the petite woman in surprise; Harley loosens her grip, forgetting her own strength. "Could you take me to Dr. Arkham's office?"

The man, Stephen his name tag reads, narrows his eyes at her. "Uh, sure thing Ms…?"

Harley smiles, letting go of him completely. "Quinzel. Doctor Harleen Quinzel." She surprises herself at how convincing she is.

Stephen's eyes widen the tinniest bit before they narrow again, looking her up and down. "Of course, Dr. Quinzel. The whole staff has been waiting on you."

There's a certain cynicism in his voice laced with doubt; he's underestimating her and Harley smirks at his back as he leads through the halls. She's not surprised; she herself probably would be expecting some old cynical woman with a mono-brow and a frown that never lifts. When he finally stops outside Arkham's office, he casts her a look then shakes his head, knocking the door and opening it, peeking his head through. "Dr. Quinzel here to see you, sir." Harley hears a gruff 'send her in!' before Stephen steps back so she can walk in.

"Thank you, _Stephen_." She smirks, walking by him, closing the door behind her. Arkham looks up from his desk and offers her a tired smile, and in return she offers a wide smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She doesn't wait for him to offer a seat, instead walking right over and sitting down, folding one leg over the other. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Arkham."

The old doctor nods, folding up pieces of paper hurriedly. "Likewise, Dr. Quinzel. Forgive my, well, disorganization, I've been busy with running this place after taking it back from Crane after he-" he stops and shakes his head, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"Don't be silly," Harley smiles sympathetically, "I understand completely. It should be me saying sorry for giving you all the extra paperwork." She teases and, god, she can't believe how easy it is to fall into this.

Arkham chuckles a genuine little laugh that Harley can tell has been first in weeks. "Don't worry about it. Your reputation aside, I'm just glad to have a fresh face around here." He sets his paper down, clasping his hands together. "However, business calls."

Harley smiles secretly at the double meaning of his words and nods. "Of course."

His face is suddenly serious and Harley thinks she prefers him with a _smile_. "The Joker is of course, located in the high security wing. Naturally we are eager to have you to start right away working with him, but I thought it best it wait until this afternoon. Give you some to get briefed and prepared for him."

She glances at the clock and nods. "I understand. However I would like to go into our sessions with an unbiased frame of mind." She states. She leans forward a little. "I know how much nurses like to gossip and how orderlies like to tell their tales; I find both very bothersome and unprofessional, especially in terms of the patients self-confidence."

Arkham gives her a wry smile. "You don't have to worry about this ones self-confidence, trust me."

Harley doesn't think she has to worry; instead she lets her smile turn into the tinniest of smirks and stands up. "Then I'd like to be briefed right away."

The old Doctor shuffles his papers into a brown folder and hands it to her. "I'll arrange a session for two-thirty to last an hour." He informs her, rising to his feet. "Good luck, Dr. Quinzel."

Taking the folder, she begins walking towards the door, and turns around as her hand rests on the handle. "You too, Dr. Arkham."

* * *

Her morning is dull as she reads through the reports and footnotes given to her. She had read most of them last night, and the ones she hadn't all read the same_. 'Is unsure of his own past; is a constant state of confusion over the facts and thus reinventing himself.' 'Is insufferable and prone to mind games; likely bi-polar due to sudden fits of rage and bursts of hysterical laughter.' 'Patient is highly unstable, rehabilitation is near almost impossible.'_

"I coulda' told ya all that without even meetin' the guy." Harley mutters to herself, taking a sip of her coffee. She reads of his tell-tale stories of how he got his scars and Harley thinks that either he did it to himself, or some mobster didn't like his humor.

She glances at her watch and it reads one-forty. Groaning, she rests her head on her hands, looking around the office given to her. It's a lot bigger than the one she had as an intern, she notices. "Cheapskates." She grumbles, tapping the side of her mug idly. "Jeez Louise this place could bore a hyena to death." The minute the words leave her mouth, she feels a little stab in her heart as she thinks about her own babies. "All in the past, Harl." She reminds herself, and then frowns. "And gotta stop talking to myself before they realize they've let a loon shrink the bigger loon."

She lets her mind wander to her real home, and feels a bit guilty that she really didn't give Holly any indication as to where she was. "Eh, she's a smart broad." She mutters, twirling a strand of her hair. She glances at the clock again. Two-thirteen. Sitting up, she folds everything back into the folder and stands up, adjusting her skirt and blouse, and running a hand through her hair to fix out any kinks. "Not long now." She breathes, walking over to the small window. "I wonder if this place is as easy to break out of as my Arkham." She wonders quietly, placing a hand against the glass. She stands there for what feels like seconds, but when a knock causes her to blink, she realizes it's longer. Taking a deep breath she walks to the door, picking up her pen as she goes, folder clutched to her chest. She smiles at the two orderlies outside when she opens the door. "Lead the way."

They walk in silence and Harley feels an electric chill in the air as they enter the high security wing. It's in complete silence, not a sound from any of the cells as they pas by and Harley feels completely uncomfortable because this does feel natural at all to her. They turn a corner by the cells and stop outside a clear-plastic door conveniently labeled "Treatment – Therapy Room." Harley can see two other orderlies strapping down what she supposes is the Joker. She looks back to where the cells are located with a frown, clutching her pen tightly. An arm touching her should causes her to snap her head back round to her present company. "You can go in now, Dr. Quinzel."

Harley nods, smiling weakly as she walks by him, waiting for the orderly inside the cell to leave before stepping in. The room is in silence; the Joker, he has his head lying downwards towards his chest and she can't see his face, but she can hear him breathing shallowly. He's restrained in a straight jacket; feet are locked to the ground, ankles bound to his chair, even around his waist is a metal restraint. She hesitates for a second before stepping forward, one step at a time, towards her seat. There's nothing between them but empty space; it's new to her, but she can adapt. Another step and she's closer and she swallows a shaky breath as she takes her seat, taking in what she can see up close.

His hair is a faded green colour, and she can tell that he's been missing shower days by the way it clings to his scalp and neck in thin little clumps. He's pale (but not _white_), she can see that from she can see of his neck.

Blinking once, she places the folder on her lap, hands resting on top. "Those are impressive restraints." She says, eyeing him. "Whatever did you do to earn them?"

She thinks she sees his mouth a little and a little laugh escapes the man in front of her, and he raises his head a little to peer at her through his greasy faded hair. "It's uh, quite a _story_." He heaves, grinning.

"Oh, I'm sure it is."

He lifts his head fully now, grinning at her. Harley's heart stops for a fraction of a second when she sees how wide that smile really is. She makes sure it doesn't show on her face. "Hell_-oh doctor_." He purrs, voice raspy. "They didn't tell me there was some new meat in our _humble abode_."

Harley raises a delicate eyebrow. "Perhaps they thought you might enjoy a little surprise."

The _Joker_ laughs – really laughs, a loud roar of amusement and malice and it sends a shiver up Harley's spine. "Oh, I'm sure they did _doctor_." He grins at her, tongue flicking out to the corner of his mouth, "because they always put my _best interests_ first to put me in a _good mood_."

Harley detects the sarcasm and understands exactly and smirks. "I'm Dr. Quinzel."

"Doc-_tor _Quin-zel." He repeats, stressing the syllables. "I'm The Joker," he says, "but you – you already know that, don't you doctor?"

Harley surveys him with a cool expression, smirk in place. "I'd be with the wrong patient if I didn't."

"_Oooh_! A sense of humor, _I like that_." There's a dark undertone in his voice as he says it, his eyes are glinting maliciously, calculating her and observing. "Tell me Doctor Quin-_zel_, what's a _beauti-ful_ woman like yourself doing in a humorless place like _this_?"

"Not giving into flattery served by make-up wearing criminals." She states, voice cold. Harley almost has herself convinced and is finding more confidence as the minutes pass. You can do this, Harl. Don't mess up like last time.

The Joker just grins at her wider. "Oh I think I'll like _you_, Doctor."

Harley feels the same guilt from this morning in her chest; her face is still set in the same expression. "Then I'll assume your co-operation with me."

"Oh, you can assume all you like," he smirks, "assumptions are what let me blow up half of Gotham." His glint dangerously at her and forces herself to speak, to take the upper hand here.

"I was under the impression that was the incompetence of the police force and you're cunningness in taking advantage of that. But I digress; I'm here to talk about your mental health, not your exploits."

The Joker clicks his tongue and lets out a dramatic sigh. "Oh you doctor types are all the same. So _narrow minded_."

Harley suppresses a grin. You _have no idea_, she thinks with confidence. "Shall we dive right in then?" she asks, her eyes meeting the Joker's.

"I think we shall." He purrs in return.


	4. 03

_Sorry there was a delay again! _

_Bad news guys; the next chapter won't be out for a few weeks. My poor little granny had a tumble and has fractured and dislocated her shoulder which means I have to look after her for a while and make sure she's ok. Don't worry though, it's in progress and will be up when I have time to write and finish it. Granny comes first, sorry to say._

_Anyway, bad news aside, I had spent a few days wondering if I should scrap the beginning of this and start again. I decided against it. _

_During the week I was discussing this with my good friend Yvette (frequent reviewer – hi Yvette!) at lunch during school and I told her a few possible outcomes and ideas I have for what's to come. Definitely I have decided on who will be appearing and who won't; a few cameos here and there are in the works as well as some other things that I didn't mention to her. :D_

_Thanks to all of you who reviewed, it always puts a smile on my face._

**The Laughing Clown**

**03.**

It's been twenty minutes since she has had the dubious pleasure of meeting her patient; in that time, she has realized that this man is not quite a man. This is a monster in human form. This is intelligence and genius and anarchy all in the one living breathing body and he is speaking to her now, grinning like a Cheshire Cat she once saw in a computer game. It's utterly terrifying and Harley is completely _fascinated_.

**_"Let me tell you a story."_**

She sits very prim and proper, taking notes like a good little doctor. She hopes her face doesn't give away that on the inside her eyes are wide and how she can't believe the diversity, the difference and the absolute similarity there is.

She is only half aware of how dangerous that really is. There is a hole that she has dug once before, and her subconscious tells her not to start digging another right beside it. Not this time. Not when she hasn't even finished digging the first.

"It's a short story, Doc." His voice is like sin and is dripping with malicious humor at her and at something else entirely. "See, I died once. For a little while; went over to the other side and _ev-ery-th-ing_. And see, when I got there, I woke up in _Hell._"

Harley listens, her pen temporarily stopped. "Really now." She can tell by the glint in his eyes that her voice has shaken.

"Oh, yes really." He's mocking her; it's so painfully obvious that it snaps back to reality and deep inside Harley feels anger. Who is this make up wearing _wannabe_ to mock _her_? He licks her his lips, glancing behind her to the door, then back at her. "So I'm in Hell, all very confused. You know how that is? One minute you're pressing a detonator, the next a SWAT team has you surrounded, firing at you? No?" he licks his lips, looking mildly disappointed. "You should sometime, good for the uh, _the soul_." He cackles little at his own joke. "So I wake up and there's two.. _lov-ely_ specimens of the female species. This tiny little blond and a _beauti-ful_ little number with turquoise hair. Next thing I know, I'm drafted into a _war_."

She scribbles furiously, glancing up. "_And_?"

"You know who we were fighting?" he asks, voice low.

Harley sighs, feeling worn out all of a sudden (and she could never let this man know _why_, could she?). "God?" she asks, voice showing signs of exasperation.

"Mmm, exactly. And you know why? _Fascist_ he was, all fire and_ control._ He's dead now." He finishes his voice softer.

"That was quite a story." Harley says, placing her hands flat against her thighs. "Quite the imagination. Do you find imagination a valuable tool?"

"Mmm, doesn't everyone?" he asks, head tilting back, eyelids drooping.

"Some are lacking, don't you think?"

He closes his eyes completely, clicking his tongue. "Most _people_ are lacking." There's a hint of irritation in his voice. "I have a firm belief that _people_ just don't know how to let go. Have some _fun_." He opens his eyes and lowers his head to meet her eyes again. "You know how to have fun, right _Doc_?"

There's a quiet click as the plastic door opens and one of Harley's escorts announces that time is up. The Joker is looking at her for an answer; Harley just smiles and stands. She turns and walks towards the door, smiling at the orderly positioned there and stops for a second. "Fun is a matter of perspective, isn't it?" she asks, not turning around. An inhuman giggle is her only response.

* * *

Arkham is waiting for her outside her office and beside him – Harley can barely hold back a laugh – beside him is Commissioner Gordon minus about twenty years to her own. Doctor Arkham has such an eager expression on his aged face that is in total contrast to the worn frown that rests on Gordon's. Arkham is the first to speak, his voice hopeful. "It went well?"

Harley walks by them and opens her office door, holding it open as a signal for them to enter. "As well as expected." She says as they walk in. "He likes to talk. Enthusiastically so."

Gordon nods, taking a seat in front of her desk. "Any conclusions?"

Sitting down behind her desk, Harley shoots him a look and raises an eyebrow. "Other than that what is already obvious?" she asks, shaking her head at his expression. "It was our first session, what were you expecting?"

Arkham looks at Gordon nervously. "Forgive my rudeness; Dr. Quinzel, this is Commissioner Gordon."

Harley smiles a cold smile of politeness. "Of course he is. Who hasn't heard of Commissioner Gordon?" The way his eyes narrow, Harley knows right away he doesn't like the way she says it.

"With all that's been said of you Doctor Quinzel, I had expected-"

"Miracles?" she cuts in, eyes narrowing, smile in place, straining to maintain it. "I am a Doctor, Commissioner, not God." She stops herself short from snapping. "Rome was not built in a day, perhaps if you ask again in a few more weeks I might be able to tell you something substansional other than that he appreciates his own humor and has little regard for human life." She forces her smile to be more pleasant and Gordon relaxes, slumping back into the chair.

"Sorry Doctor, it's just been chaos lately." He sighs, rubbing a temple.

"It seems everyone has a case of chaos these days." Harley muses, glancing at Arkham. "I heard some of the nurses saying someone calling themselves the Riddler is giving you quite a hard time." She says, sorting out her paperwork.

Gordon – James "Jim" Gordon – nods, looking grim. "At first we thought we had a copycat on our hands. Just another lunatic who looked at the Joker as a hero; the name was enough to make us think so. But then we realized it was too organized; Riddles left around like it's some kind of game."

_Aw Edward_, Harley thinks with a little mental smile, _just startin' out_! "Quite the enigma, hm?" she asks, glancing up with a secret sort of smile, knowing they were unaware of the clue she had just given them. "The thing about enigmas, Commissioner, sometimes they are quite blatantly obvious."

"You got any advice then?" he asks, the bags under his eyes evident.

Harley taps her chin. "Obviously it's a lead up; he's luring you to something bigger. He wants you to solve his riddles, correct? Perhaps he enjoys the challenge of trying to outsmart you or to watch you squirm. It seems clear that he is at least making sure you're smart enough for whatever he has planned." Harley places her papers down and gives a very small sly smirk. "Then again, perhaps he is just toying with you for _good sport_."

Gordon does not look very well when she says this, in fact Harley thinks he looks like he might be sick. "This city can't handle _another _onslaught from a man who thinks destruction is _good sport_."

"Perhaps the _Batman_ can help you." Harley offers, flicking a piece of her hair over her shoulder. "That is, if he can avoid your men long enough to get the job done."

The torn expression that Gordon has on his face, like he just remembered something gruesome, makes Harley want to look into what happened when Batman took the fall for Two-Face, and why. "Forgive me Commissioner, have I said something to offend you?" she asks gently, softening her expression.

Gordon shakes his head and rises to his feet. "No, Dr. Quinzel. You've just said the truth. I have to get back to work, good luck with your," he pauses, eyes hardening. "Good luck." He finishes, turning to nod down at Dr. Arkham and then making his way out of Harley's office.

Jeremiah Arkham looks at Gordon's back as he leaves, then turns to face Harley, a look of seriousness on his face. "Everything went well, didn't it? He wasn't, well, _difficult_?"

Harley raises an eyebrow her expression quite clear. "Of course he was difficult. He told me a story of how he _died_; it's too be expected, I dare say it may take a great length of time before I learn anything definitive from him."

The old doctor nods wearily, standing. "I trust you know what you're doing," he says, rubbing his temple, "good day, Dr. Quinzel."

* * *

Harley gets lost only three times on her way home. "Definitely gettin' the hang of this now." She grins as speeds towards her apartment. "Vroom Vroom!" she cackles, turning the corner onto her street then slamming the breaks down. Some habits, albeit illegal ones, die hard.

Humming to herself as she walks up the buildings stairs to her apartment, her mind wanders to her wardrobe and which outfit she is going to wear on her… _thing_ with Bruce Wayne tonight. "_Not_ a date," she says to herself as she opens her door, "so nothin' too fancy. Don't wanna look like a _floozy _neither though." She mutters, kicking the door shut. "Decisions, decisions." She grumbles, stalking into her bedroom.

It takes her twenty minutes to decide on an appropriate outfit. A little red dress that she had bought for a disguise on one of _his _plans that hadn't come to life. She had kept it around because she liked the way she looked in it. It takes her an hour just to do her make-up; as a somewhat relatively infamous criminal on her own world, Harley had become a professional at applying her white make up, therefore foundation is never an issue. As she sits in front of her mirror, however, she wishes that she still had her college days make up application know it all. She finally settles on something which she supposes looks like smokey-eyes, a blusher that she guesses isn't too light or too dark and red lipstick that she finds and doesn't know it's origins ("Maybe it's Holly's…"). She pulls on her red dress carefully and then her black heels and an oversized black scarf as a shawl; she's pulled her hair up into something that resembles a small beehive and the front of her hair is pulled loosely to the side. "Hey, I don't look half bad." She compliments herself, catching a glimpse in the mirror.

She grabs her black bag she had used to take to work, not bothering about its simplicity. It goes with her ensemble and already contains everything she needs like her purse and keys (living with _him_ for all the time she had really makes her appreciate the value of necessity and simplicity… as well as theatrics).

She hears a car horn at eight exactly and finds herself peering out of her window down at the street below. Bruce is getting out of his car, and looking up, giving a little wave doing a sort of pointing gesture and rabbit ears- "Oh, he's comin' up." Harley realizes, nodding to Bruce and giving a big grin, pulling away to leave her room and open her front door.

Smoothing down her dress, Harley tries to remember the last time she went out to dinner with anyone; it was with Holly just as they had moved into their apartment in Gotham and they were celebrating living together, normalcy and not having to put up with Superheroes for as long as they could. "Gee, that lasted long." Harley mutters darkly, opening her door at the first knock. "Hi." She greets, instantly smiling. She glances at her living room, and coughs, looking Bruce in the eye. "I'd invite you in, but for the sake of your health I think its best I don't." she half jokes, slipping back into Harleen Quinzel.

Bruce chuckles, offering her an understanding smile. "I understand; new places, they're always in disarray when you just move in."

"Hmm," Harley agrees, walking out of the apartment and shutting the door, "that is definitely the truth." They walk down the stairs quietly and at the bottom, Bruce holds the door open for her. "A gentleman." She smirks, walking by him.

"You expected anything less?" he smirks, walking behind her towards his car.

Harley turns, leaning against it, to smirk at him. "Maybe more pick up lines."

Bruce walks around to the other side, taking his keys out to unlock the car. "Really?" he asks as Harley turns to face him. He opens the door on his side and Harley does the same. "The night's only just begun, though. I might have a few ready by the second course." He jokes as they both slip into the car.

Harley finds herself laughing despite herself as they start to drive off. "Oh, I'm sure you do, _Bruce_."


	5. 04

The Laughing Clown

There's finally a Dark _Knight section, huh? I'm wondering if I should move this there? _

_I feel like this chapter is part filler and part of the plot. Alfred banter tucked nice and tightly in here as well as the Joker irritating Harley and vice versa. There's very little from the Joker's point of view on Harley – yet. I've got something in the works for that ____. _

_If you're wondering, the man Harley's talking about in her dream (other than the Joker) is Lewis, from the Harley Quinn series ____._

_Huge thanks to those who reviewed and those who show support my favouriting and/or adding this to your alerts!_

**The Laughing Clown**

**04.**

The restraint is alight with a soothing mixture of candles and dim overhead lights. The atmosphere is relaxed and Harley has no problems feeling at ease as soon as she and Bruce take their seats. "This is quite a place." She states, observing the extravagantly decorated interior with it's pretty little gold furnishings. She smiles a little as she looks around, taking it all in, her head making sarcastic remarks that this her first time dining in such a fancy place legally.

Bruce nods, signaling for a waiter to approach them, a charming smile lighting his face. "One of my favorite places, actually. One of the few places in Gotham where you can enjoy yourself and not worry about who's there and if you'll be on the front page of the gossip magazines the next day."

"Water, please." She says the waiter, smirking at Bruce. "Really? And here I thought you enjoyed all that attention."

The waiter turns to Bruce, who laughs a little at Harley. "I'll have a water too," he says, tapping his fingers against the menu. "Do I really come off as that arrogant?" he whispers to her, leaning forward.

Harley smiles, picking up her own menu, leaning forward too, shielding her face with the menu. "Only whenever you speak on national television."

Bruce bites his lip, leaning back in his chair, his hand clutching his shirt in a gesture of mock pain. "That hurt." He jokes, opening his menu. His eyes scan the contents quickly, so quick that Harley wonders if he's even read the menu before he snaps it closed again. "I always eat the chicken." He explains pushing the menu to the side.

"Ah," she mumbles, frowning at the menu, "I have no idea what any of this is… so I guess I'll have the chicken too." Bruce nods knowingly and motions with his hand for their waiter to approach and when he does, he orders for them both even going as far to order two glasses of champagne for them. "Bold, Mr. Wayne." Harley states, giving a secret sort of smile as the waiter takes off.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he smirks, "I have been called worse, after all," he jokes, picking up his glass of water. "So tell me, Dr. Quinzel, how goes your job at Arkham?"

She has to hold herself back from saying 'Call me Harley!', instead opting for a tired smile. "Call me Harleen," she says and she has to stop herself from wincing as the words leave her mouth, "and it's… as to be expected."

"Tough, huh?"

Harley nods, tapping the side of her glass of water. "That's one way of putting it."

Bruce narrows his eyes and leans forward, interested. "He must be something else if you're saying that after one session.." he teases.

"I don't want to break patient confidentiality, but do you really expect anything else?"

Leaning back, a faraway look on his face, Bruce shakes his head. "Not really." His voice sounds a little sad to Harley and maybe even a little angry. "I know what that monsters capable of," he states, offering a weak smile to Harley.

Harley's mouth settles into a tiny frown. "Did he- that is…" she stops, hoping he'll catch on.

And he does. Bruce nods, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his fists. "He killed a good friend of mine," he explains, "her name was Rachel."

Harley reaches to place a hand over his, but as she moves a two glasses of champagne are placed in front of both herself and Bruce. She coughs, sitting straight against her seat, while Bruce pulls himself from his thoughts. Taking a sip (a gulp) of her drink, she decided to change the subject. "So, you're in charge of Wayne Enterprises?" she asks and at his nod, she smirks, tracing the rim of the champagne glass. "I suppose you have people doing your work for you while you sit back and watch and take blond doctors out to dinner."

Bruce blinks, then laughs. It's a warm laugh that Harley likes. "You got it in one." He agrees, taking a sip of his own drink. "My friend, Lucius Fox takes care of everything. I trust him to keep the company in check."

Dinner passes quickly after hours of just talking, Harley finds herself being dropped off in front of her apartment complex and promising Bruce to keep in contact. The stairwell journey to her apartment seems to take seconds and as she walks into her temporary residence, she smiles. "That was nice." She sighs tiredly, falling onto her couch. "Wish he woulda considered that I got work in the mornin'." She grumbles with a smile, yawning loudly. "Bed now, Harl." She orders herself, dragging herself to her feet and trudging into the bedroom.

Quickly setting an alarm, she doesn't bother getting changed, instead falling onto the bed and falling asleep.

* * *

Bruce's penthouse is dimly lit when he enters and he half expects to be getting away with coming in so late. As he tip toes along towards his bedroom, Bruce thinks he can make it, until a voice freezes him in his tracks.

"I don't suppose giving your old butler a bloody ring on the telephone crossed your mind, Master Bruce?" a dry English voice asks from behind him.

Bruce coughs and turns around, flashing an apologetic grimace at Alfred. "Sorry Alfred, I just… Well…"

Alfred looks him up and down with a raised eyebrow, then rolls his eyes. "Having too much fun I should think. I should like to meet this miracle Doctor if she's curing madmen and giving you a social life you enjoy."

Shaking his head, Bruce opens his room door, throwing his jacket onto his bed, Alfred following him. "It's not like that Alfred; I wanted to keep an out on her, make sure she's fitting in and find out how she's doing."

Standing in the door way, Alfred gives a little amused smile to Bruce's back. "Of course you did, sir."

Bruce turns around sharply, frowning. "Alfred-" he starts, but Alfred can no longer resist the grin on his face, cutting him off.

"Master Bruce, you don't have to explain yourself to me. If kidding yourself on like that is the only way for to have a bloody good time instead of brooding like an old man, then so be it." he states, turning around to leave. He looks back just as he takes the first step. "But in future, I'd like a phonecall so I don't stay up half the bloody night waiting on you to saunter in from your escapades."

* * *

In her dreams, Harley is standing in a familiar warehouse surrounded by familiar furnishings and familiar men. The lights are purple and green and they light the space in a childish way that reminds Harley a little bit like a kids Halloween party.

She stands in this familiar place and she looks at the men around her; she knows them, one in particularly she feels a tiny little at her heart as he smiles at her. She wants to say to him '_sorry it was you_!' but she can't make her mouth speak.

And then she hears screaming and soon after her heart stops beating. Her stomach bubbles and she can hear that laughter. Cackle upon high pitched cackle so terrifying to anyone who hears it.

Not Harley.

She can't see him, but she knows he's there not just by the laughter but by the men's winces. And then he speaks, voice filled with childlike glee but somehow still dripping with seductive venom.

"_Don't just stand there __**Harl**__, daddy needs a __**hand**__."_

The laughter that follows is indescribable and she feels a little like she's falling, or drowning, or both.

Harley wakes up, sweating her blues eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. Her alarm screaming at her in what seems like a loud wail and all she wants is to destroy the stupid thing. Frowning, she gets out of bed, mentally banishing her nightmare, or dream, or whatever, to the back of her mind as she gets ready for work. The last thing she needs is to bethinking of one Joker while treating another. "I'll end up from one Arkham to the next." She squeaks to herself as she reapplies make up, staring at her reflection with a lost little expression, her eyes glancing to the reflection of a box behind her. Inside, there's photographs that she hasn't bothered to put up yet, mostly because they're of her and various Gotham villains but, she reasons, she can always say she and her friends like to dress up.

When she arrives at Arkham, she is greeted by two orderlies who inform her that her afternoon session with the Joker has been switched to morning. As in, right now. Harley is a little overwhelmed but conceals it with a strained smile and nod, saying she will be them shortly, and hastily makes her way to her office. She dumps her bag on her table and pulls on her white coat, throwing her ID badge around her neck, and grabbing the Joker's files.

When she reads his name, her mind replays his laughter in her mind and she has to squeeze her eyes shut, just a little. "I am a strong independent woman." She whispers to herself, as she leaves her office, thankful the hall is empty, her voice sounding a little high pitched and more like her usual self rather than Harleen.

The walk to where her sessions are held is quick and by the time she steps inside the room and sees the Joker, Harley can feel the beginning of a headache and a bad mood. She frowns, eyes conflicted as she sits. "Good morning."

The Joker looks at her, eyes gleaming as he studies her. Harley knows by the grin he gives, the way his tongue swipes at the corner of his mouth, that he can tell she is not at her happiest. "Morning, Doc. Get out of the wrong side of the bed?"

Harley clutches her pen, opening up her notes. "Shall we get started then?"

The Joker smirks, and Harley thinks if he weren't restrained that he would recline quite casually back in his seat. "Sure, uh, thing."

"Why do you call yourself the Joker?"

"I think of myself as a, uhm, a _funny_ kind of guy, you know? I like a _good laugh_."

Harley notes it down. "At other peoples expenses."

"Isn't that how all good comedians do it?"

"Most comedians don't kill thousands of people."

The Joker narrows his eyes, a deadly little smile on his face. "I'm not _most comedians,_ doc. I like to act outside of the box, cause a little mayhem and hysteria. Really get my audiences blood _pumping_."

"_Or spilling_." She mutters under breath.

"What was that?" his smile is gone now and he stares at her with his eyes squinted as if it will help him hear it again, only louder.

Harley looks up, ignoring him. "Do you feel your real name is too mundane for your chosen lifestyle?"

His eyes narrows more, not missing her aversion, but he nods nonetheless, "Yea, _that's_ it. My real name didn't, ah,_ suit_."

Nodding, Harley looks at her notes, scribbling away, before placing her pen down. She looks him in the eye for a second, before speaking again. "Why make-up?"

"I ask women that _all the time_." He drawls, rolling his eyes and shaking his head dramatically. "Although I do like a woman with, ah, _red lips_." He grins, licking his lips, looking at Harley suggestively. He bites his lip suddenly, leaning his head forward. "You haven't asked about _my_ red lips, doc."

Harley glances up at him. "They aren't red, right now."

He does a face that Harley supposed must be a pout. "You don't wanna know about these _scars_?"

"Right now I want to know why you wear make up." She insists.

The Joker's face drops into a nasty little smirk dripping with venom. "Why do you _think_ I wear make up, _**Doctor Quinzel**_?" his voice is dark and the way he says her name makes her mind flashback to time where she's standing in a red and black suit asking why _he's _doing something or another, and_ he_, god, _he_ looks at her with that same smirk.

"_**Why do you think, Harley?" **_

"_The Batman_." She says and to her it sounds like there's two of her saying it in stereo.

The Joker clicks his tongue. "The _Batman_," he says, "is what keeps this happy little Joker _smiling _at night."

Harley stops writing, and stands. The door to the room opens and the orderlies come in, but Harley just stands there as they approach.

"Time already?" Joker drawls.

She doesn't answer, leaving in silence. She wants to laugh and cry all at once. Even in this world, all he thinks about is Batman. "Some things ain't ever gonna change." She sighs to herself as she walks to her office, long ago given up on feeling jealous.

* * *

That afternoon as she sits in her office, typing up notes, Arkham knocks on her door and steps in with a sheepish smile. "Can I have a moment?" he asks. In the background, Harley has a small TV with the News relaying information quietly in the background.

"Sure." She mumbles, not bothering with professionalism. "Have a seat."

Arkham doesn't notice the slip, and takes a seat across from her. "I wanted to talk to you, well, about the prospect of taking on another patient." He says, clasping his hands together. "Having you here, the staff have noticed a subtle change in the Joker's behavior as of late."

Harley glances up from her computer screen, frowning. "As much as I want to take credit, I hardly think my care is having an affect so quickly." She sighs. "Perhaps _Batman_ is visiting him at night." She drawls.

Chuckling, Arkham shakes his head. "Don't be so modest!" he laughs. "Now, I was hoping you would agree to taking on another patient or two?"

In the background, Harley hears the news as though its louder than Arkham.

"_Just in, Gotham City Police have revealed that they now the identity of the terrorist known as Riddler. According to Commissioner James Gordon, his identity is that of Edward Nygma and is asking anyone with any other information regarding the Riddler to step forward." _

Her lips twitch into a little smile. "Which patients did you have in mind, Dr. Arkham?"

Arkham peels his eyes away from the TV, coughing. "Oh, yes.. Ah, Jonathon Crane."

"_Crane_." She repeats to herself. _Scarecrow_, she thinks with a delighted giggle, the irony not missing her. Poor old Arkham, she thinks, biting back a snort, one nutty Doc treating the other! Coughing and putting on a serious face, she nods. "If you think it's best…" she murmurs, then nods, smiling brightly.. "I'll take him on."


	6. 05

_Shorter than usual; it's mostly a filler chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and those who read, it always means a lot. Enjoy____._

**The Laughing Clown**

**05**

In the middle of Harley's living room, there sits a modestly sized black flat-screen television, which she had only bought the night before on impulse as a way of celebrating the Jonathon Crane case and to make herself feel better. In her apartment back home, Holly had been the one to set up any new technology, mostly because she was afraid that Harley would accidentally kick something over the wires or tug something vital out (sometimes, she didn't know her own strength..). So when faced with the prospect of making sure she could view channels, Harley had dutifully ventured out of her own apartment towards one across the landing from hers, seeking help. A nice man, named Jack Drake, had assisted her. She'd learned in the fifteen minutes he was in her home that he lived with his new wife and their new baby.

At present, Harley sits alone, half dressed and eating burnt toast, the news playing on the television screen while she tries to wave the smoke from her toaster away. Toast hanging from her mouth, she opens a window, deciding to let the wind do the job for her and falls onto her couch, watching the news in tired half-attentiveness.

"Reports stating that the vigilante known as Batman has been seen regularly on streets have been flooding in," one man with perfectly combed hair and flawless skin, informs her. "There has been no comments from Commissioner Gordon from Gotham City Police…"

Harley smiles, stifling a yawn.

"… As you may remember, Batman was responsible for the deaths of three civilians and two law enforcers last summer during the long and disturbing Joker terrorist acts…" Yawning, Harley leans forward, reaching for her coffee. "More memorable, Batman was responsible for the death of District Attorney Harvey Dent…" Harley rolls her eyes, sitting back, holding her mug close.

"In other news, it is feared that Gotham may be the next target for the eco-terrorist under the alias Poison Ivy, after research facilities belonging to Wayne Enterprises were broken into last night."

Harley nearly chokes on her coffee, eyes bulging. "_What_?"

"So far, plant testing facilities in major cities such as Metropolis, Star City and Central City have been attacked by the mysterious young woman-"

Harley turns the tv off, swallowing hard, shakily placing the remote on the coffee table. "Geez," Harley mumbles, getting to her feet, "I guess some things never change." Glancing at the now dark television, Harley lets out a sad sigh. _Red._

Biting her lip, she looks at her phone purposefully, walking into the kitchen and picking it up, dialing a number she's now starting to remember by heart. "Hi, Bruce? Sorry to call you so early, I- Oh no, I'm fine! Actually, I was wondering if you could get in touch with Batman," she swallows, closing her eyes. "No, no, nothing's wrong, I just need to talk to him- Tonight, would be- oh, thanks Bruce." She smiles, "yea, you have a good day too."

* * *

Jeremiah Arkham, Harley discovers, is someone who likes to surprise people and throw work at them until they can no longer function outside Arkham. At least, this is what Harley thinks as she hurries towards her surprise morning session with Jonathon Crane, skimming his file as she does. She isn't supposed to have any sessions today; instead she's supposed to be reading up on Crane and prescribing medication for the Joker.

She's at least five minutes late thanks to Arkham's long-winding speech of gratefulness and not to let Crane get under skin. Finally arriving, Harley quickly closes over the file and nods to the orderlies, giving a quick smile as she shuffles past them into what Harley has now dubbed "the little therapy room".

"You're late." A bored voice states as the doors close behind Harley. Jonathon Crane looks up at her, eyes narrowing at her behind glasses as he tucks hair behind his ear. "_You're_ my new doctor?" he asks, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat.

Harley is both taken aback, shocked and angered as she looks at him. She walks towards him, her face neutral and takes a seat. He's younger than she expected, and she notices with surprise, much more handsome than the Scarecrow she's used to. She wonders if this world is filled with dashingly good looking men who have the deeply psychotic personalities. His eyes are bright and fiercely calculating and cold as he looks at her- and he has no restraints, she realizes, flipping open his file. He can't hurt anyone without his fear gas, the file states. Harley looks up at him, offering a cold smile. "Good morning Mr. Crane, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel."

"_Doctor_ Crane." He drawls, glancing away from her. "And I know who you are, _Doctor _Quinzel. The news of Arkham's new miracle doctor has gone by me more than once." He looks at her, frowning. "What are you staring at?"

Harley can't help the amused smile on her face. "I'd expected you to be taller. And more ugly."

Crane raises an eyebrows. "You're professionalism is lacking. Greatly so."

"You did ask." She states, folding her leg over the other. "Besides, you're the one locked up for crimes against humanity, _Doctor_ Crane, you're opinion on professionalism is void."

Jonathon looks at her furiously for a moment, before visibly relaxing and taking his glasses off. "Touché, Dr. Quinzel." He places his glasses on the table. "I'm sure you have questions."

Harley nods, unfolding her leg. "Actually, I wanted to know about your fear toxin."

Smirking, Jonathon leans back in his seat. "My previous doctors waited at least five weeks before asking," he states, "however, I will answer.

"The toxin operates correctly only when inhaled," he explains, "it cannot work if it is digested or injected. Minor set-back's, but we cannot all have perfect results first time around, can we?

"As you know, once inhaled it causes vivid disturbing hallucinations, caused by the ingredient of the blue flower provided to me by Ra's Al Gaul."

Harley tries not to show her surprise at the name.

"The effects are fascinating. A person's deepest fear can reveal so much, and to watch the way a human reacts when under the pure influence of impulse and fear is simply breath taking."

"You're driven purely by obsession, " she states, voice a little awed, "as opposed to by revenge."

Jonathon frowns, looking at her confused. "Why on Earth would I be driven by revenge?" he asks. "How petty."

Harley looks at him for a moment, then shrugs. "I knew a man like you once. Except he was a lot taller and much more ugly. Loved to scare people, even had a theory that you could scare someone to death."

Jonathon is silent for a moment, then he reaches for his glasses and slides them on. "Perhaps that is the next step in my research, the next time I find myself out of Arkham." He states casually, "definitely, it is something interesting to look into."

Harley gives a knowing smirk and stands. "That's time." She begins to walk towards the door, heels clicking against the stone floor. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jonathon."

He waits until just before she's out of earshot before giving a very small smirk. "Goodbye _Harleen_."

* * *

In the afternoon Harley finally gets time to sit down and breath for a moment before she has to make a million and one decisions over her patients (she still can't quite get over how strange it is to say it) regarding medication.

When she finally gets home that night, she has almost completely forgotten about her phonecall to Bruce that morning, and is only reminded when she walks into her living room to discover her window open wider than she left it and the feeling that someone else is in the room. "Hello?" she squeaks, looking around cautiously.

"Harley." A voice rasps from behind her and her living room slams shut and Harley spins around holding back a scream.

"Geez Louise, Bats, ain't you ever heard of knockin'!" she squeals, hand clutching at her chest. "You tryna scare me half ta death?!"

Batman ignores her outburst as he walks towards her, mouth in a firm thin line. "What is it you wanted?"

Harley looks confused for a second before the news bulletin from that morning flashes into her head. "Oh! I need your help, Bats." She says seriously. "You got any way I can get in touch with- uh, my Earth?"

Narrowing his eyes at her, his mouth forms a frown. "Who." He says very final like, not a question at all, more like a demand.

"Ya know, my roommate, my friends. Let 'em know I'm doin ok."

"You've only been here a week."

"I miss 'em ok?" Harley mumbles, sniffling. "I never really been so far away from everyone I know for so long…"

Batman studies her for moment. "I'll see what I can do. However," he says, standing very still, "I want you're help."

"Oh, with what?"

"The Poison Ivy case."

Harley stares at him, eyes wide and swallows the lump in her throat. "I-I don't know nothin' about her, I-"

"_**Harley**_."

Whimpering, Harley hugs herself a little, thinking it over. She could never rat out Ivy, but, well.. It's not _her_ Ivy, is it? With a quick little intake of breath that sounds a bit like a hiccup, she speaks. "Look, Bats. Ivy's a special case for me," she says, voice quiet, "but look up Pamela Isley. You might get somethin' from that." Batman stares her out for a few seconds before he nods his gratitude and leaves her alone. It's _not_ her best friend, she tells herself, but she can't quite shake the guilt in her stomach.


	7. Intermission 01

_So that little pest known as writers block visited me these past few weeks. I had just started writing this and then suddenly, I couldn't think what to put down – I knew what I wanted to write, but the words just didn't come. I owe a lot to my friend Yvette, who beta'd this and gave me a lot of help to kick start my brain in gear to finish this – it's not perfect, but I came to a natural stop after weeks of standstill and well… I don't like forcing something. It's short and not so sweet, but hopefully it gives a new light to the story and you pick up on some of the ironic humor stashed away nice and neat._

_If you see any spelling errors or typos or missing words, let me know! I'm infamous for not somehow always missing something.  
_

_Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter and again to Yvette!_

**The Laughing Clown**

**Intermission 01**

**The Joker.**

In Arkham Asylum, there are fifty-two white ceiling tiles and sixty-five grey. The Joker knows this because he's spent night after night counting them while thinking that the cleaning staffs are in dire need of a name change.

In the past, counting tiles had been a lowly pass time of his while he lay alone in his padded cell, staring upwards, unblinking, thinking of new games to play with the Batman when he got out. After all, he's starting to feel that he's outstayed his welcome if the cringing looks and scathing whispers are anything to go by. The Joker has learned not to take to it heart, because when he's leaving his temporary home he'll make sure that every single one of these good people have a lovely little smile on their face - he isn't one to hold a grudge you see - and it will brighten his little heart to show them the light.

He has long given up on the hope that anything at all entertaining will happen in this, his happy little house, his home away from home. Batman never calls and never visits (and after all those oh so amazing nights they spent together, too!) and the staff are so skittish around him that he thinks teasing the never-used mop he sees so rarely around here will give him more of a reaction.

And then it's suddenly like someone up in the sky (or down below – the Joker doesn't believe in favoritism except when it comes to the Batman - and where he buys his suits) is smiling down on (or up at him, whichever direction his luck comes from) him because low and behold he has a brand new, shiny blond doctor with the biggest blue eyes he ever did see. She's a pretty one, he thinks with glee at the prospect of a new friend (or victim – he doesn't bother to draw a line between the two unless they're part of a mob, why quibble over trivial little things like word choice).

He notices the little laughter lines at the corners of her mouth and thinks with renewed inspiration that perhaps there is hope for this dreary loony farm yet. He's looking at her from under his hair (he really needs a haircut , this asylum staff really is so _neglectful_), she doesn't notice and he has to hold in a chuckle as she looks him over. He thinks they're really overreacting with his restraints – what's he going to do, kill his new friend with her clipboard? Actually, he thinks, licking his lip, that **c**ould be quite i_nterestin_g. How would you kill someone with a clipboard? Bashing their head in is far too obvious, maybe if he could try- oh, she's walking over now. He lets his eyes cast downwards and she sits in front of him and he can feel her eyes looking at him quite intently. He likes this one; she isn't scared like the others – but give him a week, he has been out of the game a little longer than he'd prefer.

There's conversation that he doesn't much care for but it still raises a good few laughs from him until he looks at her, right square in the eye. He can see the faint little flicker of surprise in her eyes, the way they widen barely even a millimeter and he notices with confusion the look on her face that almost looks like _familiarity_.

By the end of the session, the Joker is keen to find out all he can about his sweet new doctor Quinzel with her forced professional voice and knowing eyes. The Joker likes a challenge and he thinks if he's going to crack this one he'll have to observe her for a while before he begins to make his move. He likes a challenge and Dr. Quinzel looks like she might even have secrets to rival the Batman's.

* * *

He is an observant man and what he has noticed most of all about Dr. Quinzel is that she _neve__r_ says his name. She addresses him with questions and he accepts, for a while at least, that maybe this is just how she is with her patients.

Until, that is, he overhears that she is also treating Jonathon Crane. Not only that, but she calls _**him**_ Jonathon. He is more than a little insulted by this and he stubbornly does not speak to her for three days in retaliation. She was _**his**_ first, even if she doesn't _**know**_ it. He watches her silently, eyes cold, in hope she will say his name if only to coax him into speech. When she doesn't, he can't help but wonder why and if she knows who exactly she is dealing with. But then again, restraints such as his would give someone as sweet looking as doctor Quinzel and sense of security.

But when he sulks, punishing her with his silence, he sees that knowing look in her eyes again, and something that he recognizes as pain, even if he doesn't understand what kind or why. What exactly is going through this woman's head?

The Joker has secrets that he keeps close to the heart, like a ticking time bomb slowly, slowly ticking away until his final moment. Even then he doesn't know if that bomb will go off. He knows that the explosion will be magnificent but sometimes he thinks that one day it will just **stop**.

No fireworks.

No _noise_.

Just complete desolation.

If he has to admit one secret, it's that he is afraid he won't go out with a bang by Batman's hand. God forbid he dies by the hand of some two-bit _mob_ lackey.

He doesn't much like secrets either. He hates his own secrets because they give him a past, an _identity_. The prospect of such things contradicts all that he embodies.

He hates Batman's secrets; but he doesn't think he would like him as much without them. Complicated thing, these _secrets_.

_Secrets can ruin a man in an instant or they can shape him._

There are _secrets_ in _her_ eyes; he can see them tucked away all carefully like a child's play box. He is certain his bomb won't be going off for a while, but hers? He is certain he can let loose the fireworks in doctor Quinzels mind _real soon_. It will be a spectacular show, he assures himself with blackened glee. It's been a while but he has an objective again. There are plans; fragments of ideas and strokes of brilliance, of madness all fitting together like a bizarre jigsaw puzzle.

It's the beginning of something – of what is unclear, but he feels a delightful tingle in his spine, in his bones and blood, he feels excited for this new game he is starting.

He isn't sure how this will end, but he can see those fireworks in his head clear as day; colors of purple and green and red and he can see a smile so big and bright that he has to grin himself, teeth bared and he _laughs_.

And so it starts.

The Joker _always_ finishes what he starts.


End file.
